


How It Feels To Take A Fall

by CautionaryTales



Series: Kind-of-Assassins AU [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Assassins & Hitmen, Blood, Enjolras is an emotionally constipated assassin, Gun Violence, Guns, Gunshot Wounds, I call this my kind-of-assassins au, M/M, Violence, if implications of death bother you this probably isn't the best fic to read, there is implied character death at the end but nobody actually dies, this is a setup for a sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-01
Updated: 2014-10-01
Packaged: 2018-02-19 11:47:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2387183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CautionaryTales/pseuds/CautionaryTales
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Les Amis are kind-of-assassins who are quite successfully bringing down a large criminal organization until things go very, very wrong.  Grantaire tries to save the operation and does something stupid, which, in turn, causes Enjolras to react in an equally obtuse way.  This is the first installation of what will probably become a series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How It Feels To Take A Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Zenwriter is amazing and basically helped me get through this fic; I recommend trying it out. The title is from Icarus by Bastille.  
> A giant thank you goes out to sovinly who is a goddess of editing, I don't know how I survived while writing without her help.

Enjolras doesn't realize that something is wrong, that Combeferre’s voice is unusually panicked and strained.

He's too focused on fighting off the three men who are surrounding him, his mind calculating advantages and coordinating blows.  Two of them have guns, one has a knife, and Enjolras would venture to bet that there are probably more hidden under the man's black body suit.  He ducks backward just in time, a blade ghosting over his throat, and he swings his leg to the left in the process, connecting with fleshy calves.  One of his assailants goes down, head smashing on a nearby table.  Enjolras hears a shout and begins to turn around before he's distracted by the man's angry companion.

The shout sounded like Jehan, but they have Courfeyrac covering them on the next roof over, they're as safe as anyone could be in this situation.  Sure enough, when Enjolras wheels around quickly, deftly catching the fist that flies into his vision, he sees red spreading across the chest of Jehan's attacker.  Courfeyrac may be a pain in the ass at times, but he's serious when he needs to be and he's a damn good sniper - one of the best in the business.

Turning his attention back to the man whose arm is still in his grip, Enjolras briefly assesses a few different scenarios he could act out before twisting the guy's arm brutally.  He hears a clear crack cut through the noise around him.  The members of Les Amis who are scattered throughout the room around him don't even flinch; hand-to-hand combat is Enjolras' specialty and his techniques have the tendency to be downright cruel.  They've learned to expect the shouts and sounds of people breaking that follow him on their missions.  

Enjolras quickly ducks behind the man that he's still holding as he hears a gun cock.  Ignoring the man's choked screams, he holds fast, making use of such a convenient human shield.  The motion is almost second nature, too ingrained in his muscle memory for any hesitation -- morality is no longer a question; saving himself, and by extension, the purpose of Les Amis, takes precedence every time.  

It takes less than ten seconds for Enjolras' attacker to empty his ammunition into his partner.

Enjolras scoffs, that was a rookie mistake, and probably the last one that that man will ever make.  Snaking his hand across the torso of the limp body he now holds in his arms, he takes a second to brace himself before applying leverage to the small of the back.  He hoists it toward the other man – who is groping around in his pockets for another magazine – effectively knocking him off-balance and sending him toppling over the terrace they are standing on.  To be exact, he technically falls over the gold-plated railing of an infamous drug lord's north most balcony.  There's a loud splash at the men land in the pool below.  It's likely that the one who was still alive will survive the fall.

Enjolras didn't know the proximity of the pool and the building.  He counts the man lucky and turns back to survey his colleagues who all seem to be holding their own, his stature relaxing minutely.

That is, until Combeferre starts speaking rapidly into Enjolras' earpiece.  His entire body tenses again: that can't be a good sign.  Enjolras' instincts prove to be spot-on when Jehan shouts "Red!" just as another group of enemy combatants run into the room, too many for Courfeyrac to pick off quickly enough.

Swearing quietly, Enjolras surges forward and begins to burn through as many people as he possible can.  A snapped neck there, a swift blow to the temple there, and, when he finds a broken shard of mirror lying on the ground, he starts tilting heads forward and slicing with learned precision.

Combeferre, who is currently sitting outside in their van, is still rambling, the sound of it crackling in Enjolras' ear.  He is the eyes of the operation, able to see everything happening in the house thanks to Grantaire, who has spent the past few months painstakingly hacking into the many security cameras that are located throughout the building.

The only problem with this setup is that he can't currently see anything; at least, that's what Enjolras understands from the snippets of sentences that he can concentrate on listening to.  As Enjolras steps over bodies, away from the few enemies who are still standing (not for long, when Jehan gets to them), he is able to focus on Combeferre's voice long enough to realize that the man is arguing with someone.  From the lack of muffled response in his earpiece, Enjolras can only assume it has to be a team member in the building.

That counts out Bahorel and Feuilly whose work finished with gathering intel before the operation.  They are back at HQ, waiting for Combeferre's mission-status text.

Joly and Bossuet are somewhere in the lower levels, searching out the smuggled goods that Les Amis were called upon to retrieve – Joly's skill as an archer wasn't needed with the small range of fire from outside buildings, and Bossuet is used to this job, having extensive training as a tracker.  Bringing down the massive criminal organization that is harbouring the stolen items is Enjolras' idea of a bonus; they really could have just snuck in overnight and taken their client's property back, but that has never been how they've done things.  Enjolras doesn't believe in halfway jobs, which always lands them in situations similar to the one they find themselves in currently.

So Joly and Bossuet are a possibility, although they're busying finding the location of the stolen items.  They have never strayed from their assigned job and Combeferre wouldn't argue with them anyway, it would serve no purpose.  Jehan is easy to eliminate from the list of possibilities - Enjolras can't see them moving their mouth at all - and Courfeyrac is far too occupied to be able to converse right now.  So that leaves...

"Grantaire, get back here, please, it's not safe.  Grantaire!  You'll get killed, I don't have any eyes on the situation and...  I know you can hear me, I need you to respond, say something.  Please come back, we can figure this out...." Combeferre's pleas continue as Enjolras' stomach drops to his feet.

In all of the years that Enjolras has known 'Ferre, he has heard the man plead with people so few times that he can count them on his fingers.  He doesn't know what Grantaire is doing, but it's undoubtedly stupid, and whatever worries Combeferre concerns Enjolras as well.

"Combeferre, status update," Enjolras says curtly, interrupting the man's tirade.

"Enjolras - shit, Enjolras, you have to stop him.  I can't see, you need to find him-"

"Explain."

There's the static of paced breathing for a few seconds before Combeferre responds again, more collected this time.  "I've lost all eyes on the building, somebody stopped our gear from accessing the mainframe."

"Can't Grantaire get it back?"

"Not from an outside source, no; that's the issue.  He needs to hack via a network connection within the building."

"No," Enjolras immediately knows what that implies.  He's read the schematics of the floors enough times to know that there is only one room that Grantaire can access the security system from.  He's running before he has even uttered the word, instinct working faster than his ability to process thoughts into speech.  "I'm going up, Jehan and Courfeyrac can take care of drawing the guards away from Joly and Bossuet for now.  They can handle themselves."

"Enjolras, this is a stupid idea, you know that..."  Combeferre sounds wary and Enjolras can't tell whether he's concerned for his safety or nervous about his reaction.

Electing to respond with a simple grunt of acknowledgement, Enjolras doubles his speed, reaching a set of stairs and taking them two at a time.  Sure enough, when he rounds the corner, he has a perfect view of the drug lord's main office.  The criminal is standing in front of an open window, his pudgy figure silhouetted against the setting sun; the stretch of his arm and the extension of his Glock pistol are easily recognizable in stark contrast.

Enjolras has just barely stepped into the room when the criminal looks him in the eyes, sunlight filtering past his face dimly, and Enjolras can just make out a toothy grin before the sound of gunshot tears through the room.  His legs go weak and it's all he can do to remain standing as follows the line of fire right to Grantaire.  Grantaire who is standing across the room in front of an electrical panel, staring down at his chest.

His eyes meet Enjolras' and he falls to his knees, gasping.  Enjolras doesn't have time to think, doesn't quite know what happens next, but somehow he ends up next to Grantaire, clutching the dagger that he always keeps strapped to his thigh.

The body of the drug lord is sprawled against the large, mahogany desk in the centre of the room.  Two days later, police investigators will determine that the cause of death was severing of the carotid artery.

Right now, Enjolras only has eyes for his fallen colleague, so much so that he doesn't notice the way he's shifted his hold on the weapon, gripping the blade of the knife.  Pain does register in the back of his mind, and he vaguely feels warmth spreading where his hand rests against his leg, but it's keeping him grounded.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" Enjolras hisses, scanning the room for any signs of security cameras that might draw the enemy to the room.

As far as he can see, there isn't any recording equipment; it makes sense, after all, it is a private study and criminals are not the most trusting people on a good day.  He quickly comms Joly with a code blue and his coordinates.  The man has extensive medical training and Grantaire's laboured breathing tells Enjolras that it will definitely be necessary in this situation.

Grantaire is staring blankly at the ceiling and it takes a moment before his eyes focus.  "Enjolras?  What are you doing here?"

"Chasing after you," he informs Grantaire, none-too-gently.  "Combeferre told me that you were coming in without backup and I-"

“You left Jehan; are they safe?"

"Jehan can take care of themself," Enjolras snaps, voice taking on a hard edge.  "What did you think you were going to do here alone?  You're a tech, not a field agent; you have no business in the line of fire, Grantaire."

"I was trying to help," he wheezes.  "Combeferre couldn't see anything and I wasn't just going to sit there-"

"You've never even held a gun!"

"That doesn't fucking matter," Grantaire is getting angry now, his face is turning red and his muscles have contracted where Enjolras is touching him.  "I have a job, same as you, same as… as any of Les Amis, and I sure as f-fuck am not going to sit p-pretty in a van while Combeferre... fumbles around with equipment that isn't going to work.  The internal, uh, p-processor was blocked via a connection in this office, from the master control.  He must have known we were w-watching him because he shut down our… fuck… our bugs specifically.  I had to do something."

Enjolras understands Grantaire's logic, and he definitely would have done the same thing if their positions were reversed.  All he can feel right now, though, is white-hot anger, and he's not sure why.  He doesn't have an outlet and the calm in the room is getting more frustrating by the second.

"You shouldn't have come in here."

Grantaire opens his mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a pain-filled whine.  "Fuck," he whispers.  "Getting shot looks so cool in the movies, nobody ever told me it would hurt so much."

"You get used to it after a while."

"You do?"

Enjolras' face twists into a wry grin and he begins mapping out all of his past injuries, marked by the scars they've left.  Watching him with something akin to rapture, Grantaire listens as he explains, although he seems to be finding it harder to keep his eyes open as time passes.

_Where the fuck is Joly?_

Grantaire groans, rolling toward Enjolras before his body twitches and he begins coughing violently.  When he brings his hand away from his mouth, it's speckled with blood.  Red to match the dark crimson life that's seeping from his body.

_He needs Joly._

Pulling his phone from his pocket, Enjolras checks his messages but his inbox is empty.  Grantaire says that he can't feel his fingers anymore and Enjolras slumps against the wall, fumbling as he tries to remove his jacket, and pulls the other man into his arms.  Shifting himself so that his arms are free, he folds the material as best as he can manage and presses it to Grantaire’s torso where the blood is thickest.  The only response that he receives in return is a pained grunt.

They sit in silence for the next few minutes until Grantaire stirs slightly, his voice cracking when he speaks.  "Are you angry with me?"

"I don't know," Enjolras settles for a half-truth.

"You're lying to me."

"No, I'm not."

"I'm dying-"

"You aren't dying," Enjolras is quick to interrupt, the thought of it making his stomach roil.

"I'm dying," Grantaire presses on.  "Don't lie to me."

Nodding, Enjolras leans his head back against the brick behind him, thinking through his words carefully.

"I'm angry because you didn't call me," Enjolras starts, hesitant.  He's not sure whether this is a good idea or not, although he suspects it's the latter.  "You should have told me, I could have prevented this, Grantaire."

"I couldn't do that," Grantaire whispers, shaking his head.

"What?"

"I could never put you in danger at my expense."

"So you jeopardize yourself?" his voice is getting louder and Enjolras knows that this is a bad time to lose his temper again, but Grantaire is being obtuse, as usual, and it's so difficult not to get riled up.

"Why does it matter so much to you?"

"Because I can't- I don't want to-” Enjolras takes a deep breath.  Closes his eyes.  In.  Out.  "I can't lose you, not like this."

"Wha- you hate me.  You've made it very clear that you hate me."

"I don't-"

"I asked you not to lie to me," Grantaire sounds upset, all of his bravado has disappeared, leaving hurt in its wake.

"I-"

"Don't do this.  Don't make me die knowing that the last thing you said was pity."

"Grantaire..."

His voice breaks.  "Please."

Enjolras opens his mouth to protest again, but the vibrations of his phone interrupt him.

[8:57]

[from Joly:  they knew we were coming retreat]

[8:58]

[from Joly:  black]

[8:58]

[from Joly:  code black]

Enjolras' mouth goes dry and terror spikes through him, paralyzing.  He feels like a child again, helpless and small.

Code black has never been used before.  Code black was a joke.  They thought it would never happen.

Shrill ringing echoes throughout the room and Enjolras' phone screen illuminates his face in bursts as it blinks a call through.

[accept call]

"Goodbye, Enjolras," a tinny voice on the other end murmurs.

Enjolras goes cold and feels the rumbling of explosions beneath him, the approaching flames white-hot against his skin despite the goose bumps on his arms.

The floor collapses and he finds his lips pressed desperately to Grantaire's, his palms clutching blood-soaked fabric as they fall into empty space.  Gravity is not a merciful force, and the fear coursing through Enjolras' blood is like ice, but he hits the ground with a smile on his face.  Grantaire's lips move against his just before they are thrown apart by impact, and as Enjolras' vision rushes toward darkness, he thinks that he regrets very little, and that perhaps a person can live more in a few seconds than in all of their years put together.  

Part of him mourns the loss of this life, of the life that he was never supposed to have in this line of work.  Enjolras feels this beginning end so abruptly that it feels like a slap, and it’s a strange feeling to miss something he’s never known, and never considered exploring…

_No regrets._

_No regrets._

_No regrets._

 

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if you guys are interested in reading a sequel or more fics in this verse that look at Les Amis within this AU. Feel free to leave a comment and kudos for your writer. :)  
> I'm on Tumblr as canadiancosette, come find me, friends.


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